


cicatrix

by krysalla



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Scars, brief mention of jason todd, nothing too bad, small mention of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krysalla/pseuds/krysalla
Summary: cic·a·trixnounthe scar of a healed wound.It's hard not to worry about Dick Grayson. He has a dangerous job. And too many times has he gotten hurt, but you'll always be around to count his scars.





	cicatrix

His heart beats like a drum when you lay your hand over his chest. The once smooth flesh is now littered with scars; it’s nearly impossible to lay your hand against his skin and not feel the raised flesh that have gone almost red. Most have faded, from when he was young and reckless, from his early days of being Robin. Those ones are smaller, not so serious as the ones that are newly healed. 

Dick’s breathing hitches when your fingers trace over a knitting of skin that runs from his left shoulder blade down to the front of his right hip. He nearly died receiving this one. 

Each one is a testament to just how dangerous his job is. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when you curl against him, you whisper to him, that he’s damn near invincible. Heroes never die, they are never hurt. That’s what you know, what you knew when you were young. But now that you’re older, it simply isn’t true. And it’s made even more real, that no one can live forever, when Dick comes back, bloody and broken from fights in the dead of night.

You heart shudders at the thought of waiting for him all night, only to wake up to the news saying that the infamous Nightwing had died in some battle, taken by surprise by some fool with a gun.

You remember the call for this scar. Your nails scrape gently across the tight skin of his belly. There had been a panicked voice on the other line, telling you to come to some sleazy joint in the middle of downtown gotham.

That was the first time you’d met his father.

There were others there, packed in the small room, and you vaguely knew of some of them. Donna was really the only one you knew. She was the first person Dick introduced you to. You, in some pit of your own jealousy and insecurity, had thought they had been an item- maybe even still one with how they interacted, until you had seen her with a woman- an alien- beautiful beyond all means, looking at her with stars in her eyes, looking at her with love.

Leslie had ordered everyone out of the room, doing what she could with what she had, after all it was a clinic she ran, not a hospital. Bruce and you had been allowed to stay. You helped where you could while Bruce sat, holding his son’s hand and pressing his forehead against the top of it. 

He had lost one son before, he couldn’t go through that again. Dick barely talked about the boy who died too young, too tragically. 

You never wanted to know what exactly had happened, but when Leslie peeled back a damp cloth laid against his abdomen, you nearly vomited on the spot. 

Thirteen hours, five phone calls and one off the books surgeon who asked no questions about the man who was laid out, nearly eviscerated on his operating table, with a recognizable suit cut up and tossed on the ground.

His blood stained your hands like your favorite lipstick against the collar of his one nice dress shirt. You hadn’t been able to wash it off in one try.

He presses a kiss to your temple, pulling you out of your thoughts- he’s always been good at that- knowing when you needed to come back, that you shouldn’t be left to think so hard and so long, that nothing good could come of it, having seen, first hand, the doubt and worry, the anxiety and headrush it causes you. Dick smiles gently, his index finger curled beneath your chin and tilts your head up.

“You need to stop admiring the art. Even I need to sleep.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to sleep.”

“That’s selfish,” Dick presses his forehead against yours. He smiles when he hears the soft breath you exhale, your shoulders going slack and leaning into his body, “Maybe, I want to sleep.” His breath is warm against your cheek, and you squirm at the feeling, nose scrunched up and fingertips dig into his skin. Your fingers trace across his shoulder blade, the bump of his scar, although a painful memory of how he gained it, it calms you, because he’s here. He’s still here with you.

“You know,” you open your eyes, finding the bright blue ones that had enraptured your attention since the first time you had spotted him, “I don’t think you would mind too much.”

He scoffs and shakes his head slightly, only earning him your nose rubbing against his, but maybe he wanted that. He’s always been so affectionate, “That’s not true.”

“Prove it.”

“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudo/comments would be appreciated! I hope you enjoyed!


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